My Ink Dance

Discovering Extraordinary Grace in an Ordinary Life

Afraid to Write

I have a journal I’m afraid to write in.

DSCN1104

What if I write on those creamy lined pages and they don’t? (Make me famous, that is.)

What if I write the wrong words?

What if it never happens?

See, I am not one of those people who wants my words to simply exist in a folder in my computer or penned on journal pages. I am also not looking for fame according to the world’s standards.

What am I looking for? I am not sure what I’m looking for, but I know what I long for.

My name printed on the spine of a book in a bookstore. I have little desire to write under a bushel. I want to let it shine. The only trouble is I’m not sure where the lighter is, or the candle for that matter. Ideas swirl. Passion flickers. I see pieces of the endgame. But all the in between…well that’s where I’m lost.

I’m trying to convince myself that the only wrong words are those not written.

That’s easier to type than to believe.

freedom-cage words

So, here I am doing the one thing that most published authors agree upon: putting my seat to the chair and typing words that will hopefully string into sentences into paragraphs into pages into chapters into inspiration.

Maybe that’s my goal more than a book: inspiration. Not for me as much as those who read what I write. I long deep inside for my words to be more than black Arial 12.  I long for my words to stir something in the reader so that she reflects, feels, hopes, longs, cries, screams. I want my writing to bring anything real to the surface so that there is no room left for pretenses and, ‘I’m fine’ responses to life. I want to write words that evoke real, imperfect emotion in the reader so that she is left naked in the most beautiful way.

In order to get to that place, I need to go through those same emotions in myself.

And that is perhaps the scariest part of all.

Fear sits on my shoulder mocking every honest thing that pours out of me. It holds the pen in midair, stops the cadence of my fingers on the keyboard. Fear feels like a beast, and I pray that somehow each click of a key chips away at a piece of that monster so that I can be free because…

someday THESE words will make me famous.

woman freedom

About whohewants

Leave a Reply